


and what will the future hold

by ofjulii



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: 2019 World Figure Skating Championships, Ambiguous Relationships, Confessions, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, PyeongChang 2018 Winter Olympics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-01-14 23:20:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18486496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofjulii/pseuds/ofjulii
Summary: Yuzu doesn't win Worlds. Javi reminds him that there are other things to be won.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, Worlds was... something. This was originally just going to be a one-shot, but Yuzu hints (quite overtly) at another event that I wanted to explore in depth, so I decided to split it into two.

Yuzu doesn’t win.

He goes through all the regular motions: smiling for the crowd, acknowledging Nathan, holding his silver medal like he’s happy with being second — but the disappointment lingers, and it hurts. He’s not good with losing because losing comes with the inevitable feeling of disappointing everyone who’s helped him get to where he is now — his country, his coaches, his fans.

Brian and Tracy tell him _next year_ but Yuzu is twenty-four with a shitty ankle and no concrete plans for his next season. His time isn’t up yet, but he can’t help but wonder if he’s already hit his limit. He knows he hasn’t. He still has to jump the axel, and the flip, put the lutz back in, and practice the salchow — but how can he do that with so little time? Yuzu wants to do so many things at once, but he can’t do them all on painkillers.

Brian tells him to rest but Yuzu goes to his room and stews. Curls up on the hotel bed, wraps his fists around the sheets, closes his eyes and tries not to scream. Second place. After his second Olympic gold, after winning both of his GPF assignments and breaking new world records, second feels like a slap in the face. It’s a reminder that he isn’t invincible, after all, and his crown will be passed on.

His phone buzzes. There are a couple of messages from his mom, who, by unspoken understanding, tells him that the rest of the family will see him tomorrow, and that she’ll be spending the night in Dad and Saya’s room. There are a few messages from Brian talking about itineraries and never giving up, to which Yuzu replies with a smiley face because Brian’s bad at pep talks but he’s trying, and a text from Javi, which reads _Yuzu!! Amazing!! I knew you could do it!! You broke 300!! Again!!_

Yuzu smiles, but it doesn’t get rid of the disappointment. _Nathan broke 320,_ he texts back.

Javi replies no less than a minute later. _You were still the first person to do it!_

Yuzu frowns. Javi’s right, and he’s only trying to cheer him up, but he doesn’t just want to be the first person. He wants to hold all the current records, Nathan’s quads be damned, and continue to hold them until he retires. He says as much to Javi, who just sends back a couple of laughing faces and _Well now you have a reason to continue skating. Go beat Nathan’s ass!_

Yuzu replies _but my quads not good enough_ and throws his phone to the other side of the bed with a sigh. It’s nearly 12am but there’s no way he’s going to be able to sleep. He pads to the bathroom to wash up anyways. When he comes out, he flops onto the bed with a sigh and flips through his messages again — a totally unnecessary pooh bear gif hug from Brian, congratulations from a friend back home, and even more messages from Javi.

_Have you eaten?_ Javi asks, which is a perplexing thing to send at this hour; he’s in Japan for some promotional thing, so why would he be talking about eating at 1am? A midnight snack? Even more perplexing is his following text: _what room are you in?_

Yuzu furrows his eyebrows. Why does Javi care? _604\. Why?_ He watches the little texting icon disappear and appear, almost as if Javi’s unsure of what he should say.

_I’m in Saitama. Train just arrived, coming to the hotel now. Want food? I brought chips and ice cream!_

_??!!!_ Yuzu texts back at him. _????????_

Javi studiously ignores Yuzu’s subsequent paragraph of confused emojis. Yuzu’s left on read for about twenty perplexing minutes before Javi texts _at your door now!_

Yuzu rolls his eyes and yanks open his hotel room, letting a sheepish Javi escort himself inside.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you?” Javi holds up his Lawson-acquired bag of chips and chocolate. “I have food as an apology?”

“Brian kill you for giving me this,” Yuzu grumbles, but accepts the shopping bag anyways. “I ask you one month ago if you were going to worlds, you say no. Why you didn’t tell me you changed mind?”

“I…forgot?”

Yuzu smacks him on the shoulder. “Ow! Okay, okay,” Javi says, rubbing his shoulder, “I wanted to surprise you, alright?”

“You want to surprise me,” Yuzu says flatly. “You want to surprise me at 1am after I got silver?”

Javi sighs. “I knew you'd be prickly. Yes I wanted to surprise you, but maybe…maybe not like this. Plus,” he reaches into the bag and waves a bag of chips, “I bought so much food so I thought we could share all the nice things!”

“Nice things that make me lose technical score,” Yuzu mutters, but he can feel the corners of his mouth twitch up. “Javi’s fault if I fall in gala performance.”

“Hey!” Javi protests, “You eat these things all the time!”

“Only off-season. Strict diet during season,” Yuzu reminds him, but snags a bar of chocolate anyways.

“This is your last competition this season, isn't it? So you're free to do what you want,” Javi says, even though they both know that he won't. Yuzu operates with purpose, so he was a little lost during the beginning of the season. He’d won his second Olympic gold, broke all the records, won most of the major competitions — so he wasn’t too sure what he wanted to do anymore, and whether or not he should continue skating. But now — he’s got something to do, and he won’t stop until he achieves it.

“Last competition, but not last season,” Yuzu says. “Must work harder. Must continue next season.”

“Yuzu…” Javi shakes his head, sighs, “you did well. You did so well, and you were the first person to break 200. And 300. And I am so proud of you for doing that, and the whole world is proud of you for doing that. You deserve to take a break.”

_I didn’t win._ “No break. Have to work harder.”

“Even if your doctor says no?”

Yuzu nods. “Can rest body but cannot rest mind. Always thinking, how to get better?”

“What if everyone around you tells you to stop? What if they say, _Yuzu take a break?_ Will you continue even if Brian and your parents say no?”

Yuzu nods again. “Worlds will be mine next year. I will find a way. Always can find a way.”

“I know,” Javi says, exasperated, “I know you will. That's not what I’m worried about.”

“So what,” Yuzu says, quiet. It’s nearly 2am and he suddenly feels exhausted — not just from skating and the press, but also the disappointment he’s been shouldering for the whole night.  “What are you worried about?”

Javi exhales. “You.”

“I said, I can find a way.”

“I _know_ , but — ”

“I can find a way,” Yuzu repeats firmly.

“And I told you that I know that!” Javi says, his voice rising, “That's not what I’m worried about! I worry that you’ll beat yourself up even if you get gold but you don’t win a record! I worry that you’ll think that you can continue on painkillers after the next worlds because you win it, and you want to continue winning! I worry that you’ll — ” his voice catches, “ — regret it, having to go through it all again.”

Yuzu suddenly feels angry. Javi’s always stressed that he is his own person — has he forgotten that Yuzu is his own person too? Who is Javi to tell him what he should regret, and what he should do? Why does Javi even care? He’s got a career and a sporting culture to instill in his people — he doesn’t have time to worry about Yuzu.

“This is my life,” Yuzu says, steely. “I do what I want. I not have you say how I feel.”

“I know!” Javi exclaims, “I know it’s your own life! And I’m not going to make any decisions for you. I’m just — ” he takes a breath, and then says, softer, “ — just worried for you. That’s all.”

“Worried?” Yuzu asks, quietly mocking, “Why? I thought you said, after Pyeongchang, you don’t have time?

_Pyeongchang._ They haven’t talked about it since Pyeongchang itself, and Yuzu can see the shock that flashes past Javi’s eyes, the audible inhale of air as he turns away from Yuzu. “It wasn’t just me,” Javi says, and Yuzu can hear the underlying hurt in his voice, the silent disappointment that Javi has never been able to hide when he’s upset, “You know that.”

The selfish part of Yuzu wants to disagree, wants to shout at Javi, tell him to leave, push him away like he did in the tentative months after Pyeongchang, when they were awkward and unsure with each other in a way that they hadn’t been since 2012.

But — as always — Javi means well. Javi always means well, and it irks Yuzu — he can’t fault Javi for doing what he thought was best. After all, it wasn’t as if Yuzu disagreed; the decision was inevitable, wasn’t it? Javi back to Spain, and Yuzu back to Canada. There was no reason for Javi to stay. There was no reason for Yuzu to ask him to stay either, although that same selfish part of him wanted, desperately, to have one — just so that he could keep Javi in Canada with him forever.

“I know,” Yuzu finally says. Javi glances up at him, hopeful and regretful at the same time, and Yuzu barrels on. “I’m sorry. Was selfish of me. You right.”

“No, don’t apologize,” Javi says, “This isn’t about what’s right and what’s wrong, Yuzu.”

“Then what?”

“We’re — ” Javi hesitates, voice catching, “ — friends, and friends care about each other. That’s all.”

_Friends._ So that’s what they’re calling it now. “Friends. I know,” Yuzu says, and Javi gives him a look that Yuzu can’t entirely decipher: questioning, maybe? Sadness? Or even — longing?

“Yuzu — ” Javi starts, but Yuzu shakes his head.

"Not now. Sleep now."

“But — ”

“No,” Yuzu says firmly.

Javi relents. “Should I go?” he asks, already preparing to leave, “I don’t want to stay if you don’t want me here.”

Yuzu pauses. He _does_ want Javi here, but he knows that his mood isn’t going to help anything right now. But Javi can deal with it, and they’re friends, or whatever, and Yuzu’s feeling very selfish at the moment. “No,” he decides. “Stay.”

“If you’re sure,” Javi says, and Yuzu nods. He rolls over to the left side of the bed, and watches Javi as he goes into the toilet and washes up before settling himself on the sofa.

“Goodnight,” Javi says, closing his eyes.

“Goodnight,” Yuzu replies, and debates on whether or not to ask Javi if he wants to share a bed. “Wait. Javi…come. Sleep here, we share.”

Javi cracks open an eye. “Really? You sure?”

“Yeah,” Yuzu says, and Javi gingerly pads over and climbs into the right side of the bed, next to Yuzu, sighing as his back touches the foam mattress and the electrical warming pad. It isn’t weird as it could be — sharing personal space has always just been a common thing for them.

It was practical when it first started: them helping each other up after a failed jump, or comparing physical skating notes on the ice when English failed to work as a medium of communication. Then, it happened during warmups, gala exhibitions, award ceremonies, and even occasionally — an afternoon on Javi’s couch playing video games, leaning into each other and laughing away a tiring season.

There was no explanation, because they didn’t need to have one. They were just — _comfortable_ with each other, in the way that long-term friends are, and that hasn’t really changed now — regardless of the impasse they were stuck at after Pyeongchang, it’s still a relief to have Javi next to him, a steady warm presence that’d been with Yuzu for most of his senior career.

Yuzu switches the lights off, then turns to face Javi. Javi’s eyes are shut, and Yuzu wants to remember him like this, wants to remember all the parts of his face that makes him Javi — the soft curls that stick to his forehead, wild and unruly and beautiful; the fluttering of his eyelashes, beating like butterfly wings — even his bumpy nose and his horrible unkempt goatee that Yuzu hates so much. He reaches a hand out to brush against Javi’s cheek, and Javi’s eyes open, bleary with sleep.

“I wanted gold,” Yuzu says, when Javi fixes his eyes on him.

Javi takes Yuzu’s outstretched hand in his. “I know.”

“I worked hard,” Yuzu confesses, feeling tears start to prick at his eyes, “still didn’t win.”

“I know,” Javi repeats, pulling Yuzu closer to him, and Yuzu really starts crying then — ugly, heaving sobs that travel through his whole body, making him feel so tired and worthless and alone.

“I wanted — ” Yuzu starts again, still sobbing, but Javi cuts him off.

“Shhh. I know. It’s over now. As you said, worlds is yours next season. And the next will be yours too. They will always be yours.”

“How…are you sure? You said you worried,” Yuzu chokes out, his voice muffled by Javi’s sweatshirt. “I think I can do, but does Javi think so too?”

“Oh, Yuzu,” Javi says fondly, tilting Yuzu’s chin up, brushing away the tears that are still streaming down his face, “Didn’t you hear anything I just said to you? I’ll always believe in you.”

Yuzu cries even harder then, burrowing further into Javi’s embrace. “Thank you,” he whispers, closing his eyes and letting his tears guide him to sleep. Distantly, he can feel a soft press of lips against his forehead, and he falls asleep like that — surrounded by dreams of future worlds and gold and Javi, always Javi.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry it took me so long! Enjoy all this melodrama, haha. 
> 
> Thank you so much to punkrightnow for (gently) reminding me to finish this; I couldn't have done it without you <3

Javi kissed Yuzu once, in Pyeongchang.

It was after they’d both gotten their medals — after they’d escaped the hoard of press, and found themselves tucked into a shadowy alcove in a still corridor. Yuzu had been laughing then, incandescent with happiness, feeling like three months of pain had been taken off his shoulders.

It felt natural, after, for Javi to rest a steady hand on Yuzu’s chest as he was laughing, and brush his thumbs against Yuzu’s cheekbones, wondering and soft. He'd kissed Yuzu then, brushing his lips against Yuzu’s, swallowing the gasp that came out of Yuzu’s mouth. Yuzu had felt so — full, from happiness, from Javi’s warmth, from how right the kiss felt; the natural culmination of six years of friendship wrapped up in that split second of shared bliss.

Then, after — Javi had looked at him gently, almost ruefully, and Yuzu knew what he was trying to say. That there was no way they could do this, not with Javi’s upcoming retirement and Yuzu’s unfinished career; their post-Olympic paths weren’t destined to converge, not anymore. It wasn’t Sochi, where they’d been four years younger and determined to continue down the competitive path together — Javi reeling from being off the podium, and Yuzu powered with an Olympic gold. They knew that they would be at the next Olympics together, ready and victorious.

Yuzu would be with gold, and Javi — there. Somewhere, on the podium.

It happened. Yuzu won gold, and Javi was on the podium, ready to say goodbye. Yuzu wanted, selfishly, to beg Javi to stay in Canada with him, to keep him close and never let him go. What would Canada be, without Javi and his silly jokes and silly Chaplin routines and his ability to cheer up a whole room with nothing but a smile? Yuzu lived much of his life by routine, and his Cricket Club routine had always involved Javi, in some way.

Not anymore.

“We can’t,” Javi said, resigned. “You know we can’t. You know that, right?”

Yuzu felt a hot wave of anger course through his body. “Don’t — ” he snapped, and snatched his hands away from Javi’s. What was that word that Brian used again, when some ISU representative tried to explain some shitty rule to him that he already knew? “ _— patronize_ me. Don’t patronize me. I’m not a baby. I _know._ ”

Javi grimaced. “No! No! I wouldn’t, you know I wouldn’t. It’s just that, our careers, you know. And we don’t have _time._ I…” he trailed off, looking genuinely contrite.

“Don’t explain, Javi,” Yuzu said finally, “I know what you mean. I’m going to Canada, you not.”

“It’s not like I don’t want to,” Javi tried, but Yuzu shook his head and he sighed instead. “Please, Yuzu. Believe me when I say this, at least?”

Yuzu ignored him. “Will you come to Canada, for visit?”

“ _Yes,_ of course,” Javi said, and tried again. “Wait, Yuzu — ” he managed, before Yuzu cut him off.

“Then I see you in Canada,” Yuzu said, and gestured pointedly towards the other end of the corridor, where people were starting to emerge. “We should go.”

“Yuzu. Please,” Javi said, but Yuzu didn’t reply. “You wouldn’t want to either! You would just be focused on your next competition, your next routine, your new jumps and your gold! I would be an unwelcome distraction, and we’d end up hating each other! And what about me? What would I do? I have a career too, you know, but you don’t care, do you — ” he cut himself off as he saw Yuzu close his eyes and turn away. “I’m sorry, Yuzu.”

Yuzu wanted to shout at Javi, or tell him that everything he said was wrong, that of course he cared. He cared so much that it hurt to physically pry himself away from Javi’s embrace, and watch his face crumble. What did Javi know about him? Nothing, it seemed. “We should go,” he repeated, dully.

“Just — don’t — you’re doing it right now — don’t push me away, _please,_ ” Javi begged, catching hold of Yuzu’s wrist once more. “Everything that happened here, is on me. Don’t let this change anything.”

“I won’t,” Yuzu said, though they both knew otherwise. He stepped closer to Javi and kissed him one last time, a close-mouthed apology, and let Javi’s hands linger on his waist before stepping away for the last time. “Bye, Javi,” he whispered, and it had felt like a final goodbye.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, Yuzu rises first.

He slowly disentangles himself from Javi’s embrace and tiptoes to the bathroom, making sure to lock the door behind him before he takes a deep breath and looks at the mirror. There are dark circles around his eyes and his face looks red and puffy — something he's going to have to conceal for the gala later, because a blotchy face isn't going to compliment his extremely flowery costume.

When he emerges from the bathroom, Javi is awake, blinking blearily up at him.

“Good morning,” Yuzu says, hesitantly.

Javi smiles. “Good morning.”

Then, everything seems to fall back into place. Yuzu manages to trip over a dangling cord, because of course he does, and Javi takes one look at Yuzu’s baleful glare and guffaws, making Yuzu burst out into laughter too.

“Stoooooppp,” Yuzu wheedles, gasping for breath. “It was accident! Stop laughing at me!”

“You look like Effie when she’s mad at me,” Javi says, and laughs even more when Yuzu’s glare turns petulant.

“Effie always mad at you, you cannot say that,” Yuzu whines, flopping back down on the bed. “Also she only likes me.”

Javi splutters. "Excuse me? I pay for all her stuff! And I let her scratch my furniture! Of course she likes me!"

“She likes me better,” Yuzu teases, and Javi turns towards him, indignant. “Your furniture in Canada never good, Javi. Of course she want to scratch!”

“Oh, is that so?” Javi says, and reaches for him, pinning him down to the mattress and tickling him. “Wanna repeat that?”

“Effie — likes — me — _better,_ ” Yuzu wheezes, wrestling himself out of Javi’s hands and laughing, “and your furniture not good!”

“IKEA furniture is perfectly good!”

“But Javi choose the ugly ones,” Yuzu counters, making Javi lunge at him and tickle him even harder, “Okay, okay, _stop,_ Effie likes both of us! And your furniture is okay!” he gasps, feeling nineteen all over again.

Both of them are too busy trying to tickle each other to notice Yuzu’s mom walk into the room. She coughs, and they both spring apart.

“Yumi!” Javi chokes out, scrambling to his feet. Yuzu can see the tips of his ears flush red in mortification, and he knows that he’s probably just as red too.

“Good morning,” his mom says, her tone measured, “I was just going to see if Yuzu was in a better mood today.”

“I’m fine,” Yuzu says, desperately wishing he could magic himself away from this room. Fuck, he really does feel nineteen again, cowering under his mom’s gaze.

She raises an eyebrow. “Did Javi help?” she asks, looking at him carefully.

He nods. He chances a glance up at the rest of the room and sees Javi’s eyes widen, as well as the corner of his mom’s lips turn up, almost imperceptibly.

“Good,” his mom says. “It’s about time, I think. Yuzu, we will see you later,” she looks at Javi, smiling, “and you also, Javi, I think.”

With that said, she leaves.

“What was that?” Javi asks faintly, after the door clicks shut behind her.

Is it possible for Yuzu’s face to get any redder? “She thinks, we,” he coughs, not quite sure how to put it, “partners? Like, boyfriend kind of partner. But we just friends, I said many times to her.”

There’s an uncomfortable pause, and and Javi’s voice is soft when he says, “Would that be so wrong?”

Yuzu’s got a practice to be at and about a hundred statements to give to the media about trying harder and never giving up and how much he loves Nathan Chan’s jumps and how happy he is to be humbled by a teenager dressed in Vera Wang. He can’t do this right now. Not again. “I have to go,” he says, jerking his hand towards the door. “Gala practice. Talk later?”

Javi looks like he’s about to say something, but snaps his mouth shut instead. “Yes. Go. But later, I want to tell you something,” he says, and grips Yuzu’s wrists, firm and unyielding. “Don’t run away from me, okay?”

 _I couldn’t, even if I wanted to._ “I promise,” Yuzu says. “Come find me before performance. We talk then, if you want.”

“What, break into backstage? I’ll get kicked out, for sure!”

Yuzu smirks. “Find a way. Then we talk.”

 

* * *

 

Gala practice is fun and Yuzu delights in annoying Shoma, who’s just as cute and sleep-deprived as when they last had a gala practice together at the Olympics last year. He catches up with Evgenia, congratulating her on her bronze after such a tough season, and they circle around the rink and giggle at all the shirt/vest combo-wearing men attempting their best spirals.

“So…” Evgenia says, after they watch Vincent Zhou fall flat on his butt and decide that he’s compromised his masculinity enough for today, “…Javi.”

“Javi?” Yuzu echoes, deciding that this might as well be the best time to execute his biellmann because 1) he’s _fucking_ good at it for a man, thank you very much, 2) none of the men at practice can do it, and 3) he can probably escape having Evgenia’s undivided attention if everybody’s attention is on him. But before he can even start to turn, Evgenia grabs a hold of his wrist and drags him to the corner of the rink.

“You not leaving,” she whispers fiercely. God, she’s small but really, _really_ scary. Yuzu regrets talking to her. Ever. “We have this talk, now. Javi, he see you yet?” She searches Yuzu’s face for an answer, and his noncommittal hum and slight blush is enough for her to draw her conclusion. “He has!” she exclaims, pointing an accusing finger at his face. “What did he say? He say nice things? He bring food? He say sorry? He say he li — ” she cuts herself off at the last minute, eyes widening, “ — kes to be friend?”

It strikes Yuzu as a little weird that she knows so much about what happened between him and Javi. He certainly didn’t tell her anything, though he figures that she must’ve knew that something happened. “Wait. How do you know?”

She rolls her eyes with all the dramatic might of a nineteen-year old teenage girl. “Javi, duh,” she says, but hastens to correct herself after she sees Yuzu’s betrayed look. “No! He did not say much, he just say that he do shit thing and ask me how to undo shit thing and say sorry.”

“He not very sorry,” Yuzu mutters, thinking back to last night’s…whatever. Ugh, he doesn’t want to have that follow-up conversation with Javi where he proclaims their friendship bonds (again) and how much Yuzu means to him in the European Way, that is to say — entirely platonic and absolutely not romantic.

Evgenia’s eyes soften. “He is sorry, just also…Javi,” she says, and they both grin. “You know, he has five hundred shows to plan and probably miss stupid Chaplin competition programs too much, so he a little...all over? Yes, all over right now.”

“I’m also very busy,” Yuzu points out, gesturing at the gala practice, where the men have graduated from spirals to spins but really aren’t faring any better. “I have a lot of competition, have to train very hard.”

Evgenia snorts. “Of course, you have a lot to do,” she says sarcastically, but Yuzu really means it, and it shows on his face. “Oh my god Yuzu, take a break!”

“I can’t,” Yuzu groans, “I got _silver."_

“And I got _bronze!”_

 _You’re not me,_ he wants to say, but he knows she understands. For two years, she was at the top of the podium, invincible. Until the Olympics. Even though everyone — including herself — understands that she needs some time to adjust to all the changes she’s made in the past year, it must still sting to go from winning gold at every competition to barely even making the podium. “I’m sorry,” he offers, though he figures it won’t really amount to much.  

Evgenia pats his back. “No worries. No fighting. Just — talk to Javi again, please? He really really cares. Really!”

Yuzu smiles — her enthusiasm is infectious. “Okay, yes. Also, I promised Javi I talk to him later.”

“Do you promise me too?” she asks, teasing. “Javi’s so nice, you break one hundred promises and he still soft for you. But not me!”

“I promise,” he says, as solemn as he can, and they both take one look at each other before bursting out into laughter. It isn’t long before everyone starts crowding around them, curious, and Yuzu completely forgets about their conversation until it’s time to go backstage and prepare for the exhibition.

Brian pats him on the back and reminds him that he’s so proud of him, and thankfully refrains from saying that his placing doesn’t matter, just that he’s sure Yuzu will continue to dazzle everyone with his exhibition skate and (hopefully) his quad axel next season. Tracy envelops him in a hug, squeezing him tight and choking up as she tells him that she loves him and that she’s proud of him too. His mom hugs him too, telling him that she’ll be watching him with dad and Saya. Then, there’s a flurry of picture requests, wardrobe changes, makeup artists, and soon Yuzu is sequestered in the corner of an empty room, waiting for his turn to skate.

He’s patting down one of his frilly sleeves when Javi walks into the room.

“Yuzu,” Javi breathes, and — is he blushing? “I love your costume. It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Yuzu says, and thinks that he should just get to the point before he starts blushing too. “You want to talk?”

Javi nods, taking a step closer to Yuzu. “Yes. I do.”

Yuzu raises an eyebrow. “Okay. Talk, now.”

Javi looks _freaked._ “Okay,” he says. “Okay. And please let me finish, before you say anything. You see — ” he takes a deep breath, and continues, “ — I am sorry for what I said yesterday. I shouldn’t have said all of that. About friends, about how nobody was right or wrong. Because I was wrong, and I was a coward to not say it. I was wrong in Pyeongchang, Yuzu. And now — now I can’t even be your friend anymore, and I’m so sorry, Yuzu.”

“What do you mean?” Yuzu whispers. “What do you mean, you can’t be my friend anymore?”

Javi looks regretful. “I can’t be your friend because — because I _don’t_ want to be your friend, Yuzu.”

Yuzu recoils, hurt. “Why?” he asks, his voice shaking, “You were the one that keep saying, our friendship is important. Now what, you don’t care, and you think it’s easier, if we never talk anymore?”

“No!” Javi exclaims. “No! It’s not because of that!”

“Then _what?”_ Yuzu hisses. He’s probably ruining his makeup right now, but he doesn’t care. “Why? Why not, Javi? Tell me. Tell me now.”

“I don’t want to be friends with you because _I want to be more than friends,_ Yuzu!”

Yuzu wants to be mad, wants to shout _me too until you said we couldn’t_ at Javi, but all that comes out is a small, shocked, “Oh.”

“And I get it. I get it, if you’re mad at me. Because of what I said — of what I told you in Pyeongchang, and in the hotel room yesterday. I get it. I just wish I wasn’t so dumb, that I realized earlier, you know? That it wouldn’t have mattered to me, wherever you are, that I would’ve still wanted to be with you. And I still do,” Javi says, flushed. “I still do. I want to be with you.”

Yuzu thinks about his career. Javi’s ice show. About Canada, and how much fun they’d had together. About the one and only time that Yuzu brought Javi to a small sushi restaurant in residential Toronto, where Javi had managed to break his wooden chopsticks into jagged splints and _still_ tried to use them, fumbling around with the crunchy scallops from Aomori and the white shrimp from Toyama Bay and had even tried to eat his _chawanmushi_ with his chopsticks before Yuzu had laughed and handed him a spoon instead. About the time when Javi had dragged him to his apartment to play videogames and had offered him a chorizo sandwich for lunch, teasing him for days for the way that he scrunched up his nose when attempting to bite into the hard baguette. About the one time that Javi gifted him headphones for his birthday, the pair that he’d been eyeing for _months,_ and told him that he deserved it, because he’d been working so hard. About the one time they’d taken the train down to downtown Toronto and had spent the whole train ride giggling and making up silly stories about the woman with the neon-yellow sweater and ladybug clips in her hair and later, the disgruntled old man who’d been giving them dirty looks throughout the whole ride.

Sochi. Barcelona. Boston, and the way Javi had wiped away his tears. Finlanda, too, their first competition together, and all the times in Japan, where Yuzu had wanted to take him to all the places he’d been for competitions. He’d wanted to give him the Shinshu apples that had left his hands sticky-sweet during his first time at a senior competition, wanted to take him to Sapporo to eat their miso ramen, with its curly noodles and its rich, oily broth. And even more than that: he’d wanted to take Javi to Sendai, to his home that had been rebuilt from the ground up. Shanghai. Helsinki. Pyeongchang. All the places he’d been, and more. Anywhere and everywhere; every little nook and cranny of the world, near and far, high and low. He wants to take Javi everywhere, a place for every recess that Javi has carved in his heart.

“You mean it?” Yuzu asks. His voice is shaking, and he doesn’t know how he’ll be able to skate anything after this. "Really?"

"Yes," Javi exhales, "and I know, _I know_ that it was my fault in the first place. And I know you don't feel the same way, but — "

Yuzu kisses him. Someone will probably have to fix his costume before he goes out later, and his face is a fucking mess, but he doesn’t care. All that matters is that Javi’s hands are warm around his neck and then on his waist and he’s _kissing him back,_ just as enthusiastically.

“You don’t know _anything,_ Javi,” Yuzu hisses fiercely, when they break apart. His eyes are wet, but so are Javi’s. “What I say, always?”

“That I shouldn’t presume?” Javi asks. His gaze is warm, and his hands are still wrapped around Yuzu’s waist. “That I’m dumb? Because, oh god — ” he chuckles, “ — I feel so dumb right now.”

Yuzu thinks about the conversation he’d just had with Evgenia, a few hours ago. “You’re not dumb. You’re just _Javi._ And I wish you said earlier, but I never said, also. So, I cannot blame you.”

Javi laughs wetly. “We’re both idiots, then.”

Outside, people start calling Yuzu’s name. A makeup artist bursts into the room and looks at Yuzu reproachfully when she sees the state of his face, telling him _ten minutes, Hanyu-san_ before exiting the room again.

Javi grins. “She ignored me completely, didn’t she?”

“You in Japan, Javi,” Yuzu offers, and attempts to straighten his costume, but it’s a lost cause. He’s going to be in big trouble. “Also,” he teases, “you quit competition. So you not important anymore.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Javi says, rolling his eyes. “Unimportant old man Javi here. Did he ever compete? Oh yeah, those old-fashioned routines _two months ago,_ so old. What did he even do?”

“He won European championships,” Yuzu points out. “And Olympic bronze, last year.”

“He did,” Javi murmurs. “And he also fell in love with the Olympic gold medalist, in the process.”

Yuzu’s breath hitches. He doesn’t say it back, but he doesn’t think that Javi expects him to, either. “But how to be together?” he asks, “I’m still in Canada, you still in Spain.” _That was the problem last time,_ he thinks.

“I’ll visit,” Javi says firmly. “I’ll come to your competitions. We can go to the same ice shows. And we can talk, everyday. I know it isn’t perfect, but we’ll make it work. Also,” he says, lowering his voice, “I’ve been talking to Brian, about coaching. He offered to let me coach part time at the cricket club, if I want. Next year, or maybe the year after.”

“But — but I thought you said, you want to start a club in Spain, for Spanish skaters?”

Javi grins. “I do. But _not yet,_ Yuzu. I want to learn some things from Brian first. Also, I can still perform, so I want to perform. Just like how you can still compete, so you should still compete.”

Yuzu can’t quite believe it. “So you will be in Canada? For more than visit?”

“Not for the whole year, and probably not much this year, but yes. After I set up all my shows and iron out the details, I think.”

“How long?” Yuzu demands. “How long, before you go to Spain?”

“I don’t know,” Javi says truthfully. “Two years? Three years? Five? I don’t know. But we’ll deal with it then. And it won’t be for a while, I think. Plus, you’ll probably still be competing, and I can come to all your competitions.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, _yes,_ Yuzu, I promise,” Javi says, and there is hollering from the corridor and a firm knock on the door and Yuzu has to go, _now._ But before he does, he lets Javi draw him in and kiss him one last time: an absolute, undying promise of many years to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't talk about figure skating that much, but you can find me on twitter [here](https://twitter.com/lacrimiosa) and on tumblr [here!](http://katharinebishop.tumblr.com)


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